


Plan C

by days4daisy



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Also Bad Pig Jokes, And Honey, Crazy Castiel, Dubious Consent, M/M, Season/Series 07, The Author Regrets Everything, What Have I Done
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-20
Updated: 2014-10-20
Packaged: 2018-02-21 21:13:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,802
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2482664
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/days4daisy/pseuds/days4daisy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It takes a bit of hunting, but Crowley gets his intel soon enough. Strange intel, he must say. Normandy? But then, he isn't dealing with the pinnacle of brain power. Perhaps a Euro trip is just what the doctor ordered for head case Castiel.</p>
<p>--<br/>Takes place during 07x23 - Survival of the Fittest</p>
            </blockquote>





	Plan C

**Author's Note:**

> My brain was inspired by hot mess Crazy!Cas. This...probably says nothing good about me -_-
> 
> Enjoy!

Crowley's return to the Pit is brief. He was riding high, preening over sticking one to that sod Dick Roman. But the victory lap was cut short. Turned out, those lovable Winchester boys were lying to his face. Harboring traitor whores and brain dead celestials.

It took every bit of Crowley’s strength to leave that filthy hell-cat in safe hands on Earth. But he will have his revenge on Meg soon enough. The Winchesters can't watch her every second of every day.

And besides, he's noticed a change in the sweetheart. Little acts of goodness staining her black soul. All Crowley needs is one mistake. Meg volunteering for a solo mission, perhaps. Crowley will be waiting to snatch her up.

But, this is a plot for the future. Crowley is an aggravated demon now. Hence, Plan B.

It takes a bit of hunting, but Crowley gets his intel soon enough. Strange intel, he must say. Normandy? But, he isn't dealing with the pinnacle of brain power. Perhaps a Euro trip is just what the doctor ordered for head case Castiel.

Crowley appears to an evening calm. His shoes find themselves in thick grasses, and his back is against an old, splintering fence. Charming. And dirty. Crowley notes the need for a shoeshine after this.

This day has left a stench of positivity around him. Helping the Winchesters _and_ sparing Meg? Disgusting. But it can still be salvaged. All Crowley needs to do is loosen his standards on revenge. What better way to do so than to waste a traitor angel squatting in the dirt with a pig?

The hog is full-grown, its head turned up towards the heavens. The angel sits beside it. His arms are wrapped around his folded knees. He smiles between words spoken to the hog, too quiet for Crowley to hear.

Unless the pig turns out to be the Almighty Himself (ha!), this will be easier than Crowley expected. He pushes himself off the fence and strolls to where the great Castiel sits. How marvelous, the would-be God attending an evening rendezvous with a slab of ham.

"My, my. A touching scene, this," Crowley greets.

Castiel's eyes remain on the stars. His whispered words still cannot be heard by Crowley, even at this closer distance. The beast hears, however. It tilts its muzzle into the angel's arm and nudges it gently. Castiel's smile grows, how strange. It appears the angel has discovered joy during his jaunt through Crazy-Town.

"Is this your prom date, Castiel?" Crowley asks.

His mouth freezes, ajar, when a tear suddenly rolls down the cheek of the angel. He rests his forehead on the neck of the hog. What in the world? The beast, in kind, places its snout against his shoulder.

They sit in this odd embrace for far too long. Crowley shifts uncomfortably. "What is wrong with you?" he mutters.

Castiel lifts his head, as if noticing his presence for the first time. "Hi," he says.

Crowley's brow twitches. "Really?"

"This noble hog, I can only hope to one day match his bravery."

"Come again?" Crowley asks.

Castiel stands and pats the pig's head. The beast watches him walk out to meet the demon-king.

"He has volunteered his life," Castiel explains. "For the sake of the Winchesters."

"Oh, for the love of-"

"This hog, like me, cannot fight. Not anymore. But we can still help! The Winchesters have a chance to defeat the Leviathan. I believe in them, Crowley." He smiles and takes a step forward. Crowley, wary, moves back. "So do you. You helped the Winchesters today. That was your real blood, wasn't it?"

"I underestimated karma," Crowley murmurs. "She wasn't just a bitch. She truly ripped you a new one."

"Crowley, will you do something for me?"

Crowley nearly chokes on incredulous laughter. "Me...do something for _you_? You've lost every last one of your marbles, ducky."

He stiffens when the angel blade appears in Castiel's hand. There's no way, in this state, that Crowley has to worry about Heaven raining down on him.... But that blade can still do some damage, even when the wielder has a few screws loose.

Crowley watches with narrowed eyes as the angel places the blade on the grass. "What are you playing at?" he asks.

Castiel nods solemnly. "I'm ready. But you have to promise me."

Crowley leans towards him. This must be a trap. But it's a clever one, for a creature so daft. Crowley can't help his curiosity. "Promise you what, sunshine?" he asks.

"Promise to finish the sandwiches." Castiel chuckles, as if Crowley is the one flying over the cuckoo's nest. "The boys need their strength. I've already fetched the lettuce, tomatoes, and wheat. You'll find them in a basket by the door of the barn. Oh, and please give this to Dean." Castiel shrugs out of his trenchcoat, leaving his white shirt and white pants - straight out of the looney bin. He begins to fold, fond eyes running over the jacket. "He kept it last time. I'm not sure why. I can only imagine what it looked like after the Leviathan were inside me. Life is so odd."

"Give it to him yourself. Do I look like your maid?" Crowley eyes him strangely.

Castiel ignores him, walks up, and places the folded coat into Crowley's stunned hands.

Then, he looks up at the stars. His smile is thin and pensive. "Can you hear them, Crowley? Crickets. The way they chirp. It's so unexpected. A miracle, really."

"Annoying little buggers," Crowley mutters. He watches Castiel close his eyes and stretch out his arms. "What are you doing, love?"

"I'm ready to die," Castiel replies. "Make it quick?"

"What?" Crowley is normally able to pull an eloquent quip from the most dire situations. But here, he finds himself at a loss. He also finds himself still awkwardly holding the angel's jacket, and he rushes to let it go. Castiel's expression slips when his trenchcoat puddles on the grass. Crowley groans. Damned head case.

Castiel's jaw tightens, and he opens his arms wider. "Fine, you can make it a slow death, if you'd like. Just please, make sure Sam and Dean get the sandwiches. It's important." Castiel's eyes fly open, suddenly sharp and insistent. "It's _very_ important, Crowley."

"You are completely off your rocker, you know that?" Crowley huffs.

But the circular nature of life is not lost on him. It wasn't long ago that he stood where Castiel does now, in a disgusting little trailer with his arms extended, waiting for the new God to smite him.

But the end did not come for Crowley that day. And, he decides - with a huge helping of self-hate - that the end will not come for the angel tonight.

"I'm not killing you, sparkles. You can quit your posturing and self-sacrificing speeches. My god, you're worse than the Winchesters."

Yes, it _was_ his intention to find a way to waste Castiel once and for all. But what's the point of vaporizing a bowl of wet noodles? The angel wants to die, this much is clear. Crowley is done giving out what is asked of him today.

He momentarily reconsiders when Castiel faces him with large, confused eyes. "You're...not here to kill me?"

"Do you think so little of me, kitten?" Crowley forces a smirk. All of this makes him feel a bit queasy, to be honest. 

Castiel tilts his head quizzically, looking quite the cartoon character. "But the angel lied to you. He strung you along, used your pride against you-"

"Yes, well-"

"He made you look foolish. _So_ foolish, Crowley."

"That's enough." Crowley crosses his arms and glowers at the angel - the one who can't even refer to himself in the first person when discussing his crimes. A true peach, this one.

"I would want to kill him." Castiel lowers his head. "I would want to kill this angel."

"Well then, kill him yourself," Crowley grumbles. "You may have noticed, but this demon is a bit tired of taking orders from angels."

"Can I pick up my coat?" Castiel asks, instead of responding. "I feel naked without it."

Crowley groans. Plan B is thwarted, no celestial blood will be spilled tonight. Why he is still here is beyond him.

Castiel walks past Crowley and kneels in front of his fallen jacket, collecting it like dying kin. Crowley swears, the fool actually hugs the garment to his chest before shrugging into it and standing again.

"Well, goodie for you," Crowley mutters. "I suppose I should leave you to your pig roast. Enjoy the bacon-"

"How do you live with it?"

Crowley raises a brow. Castiel is looking at him with far too much interest. "With what?"

"Your thorny pain. I can see it." Castiel takes a step forward. "It's even thicker than my caretaker's-"

"Ah. Meg, you mean." Crowley smirks. "Sweet on a demon, are we? You picked a good one, I must say. And by 'good,' I mean a putrid, disgusting whore-of-a-bitch... What are you doing?"

"It's beautiful." Castiel traces fingers down the side of his face. His head is tilted with wonder. "Does it hurt?"

"And here I thought I wasn't your cup of tea." Crowley's words are quiet, but his tone is edged with warning. Crazy-Town or not, the angel is barking up a tree that has not been disturbed in a long time. It should be left that way.

"I enjoy many teas," Castiel enthuses. "There is this one rarity found deep in the Himalayas. Have you heard of it? It's a white tea. Very delicate." His fingers trace beneath the demon's jaw. Crowley grits his teeth, his eyes dark with rapidly thinning patience. "But for such a subtle flavor, the texture and aroma are...well, they're divinely complex."

"If you know what's good for you, sweetheart, you will get the fuck off of me. Now."

Castiel removes his hand. But he stays close, looking into the demon's eyes. "I often wonder about koalas," he says.

Crowley rubs his brow with frustration. Everything in his being tells him to not to say a word. But anger bids him to grit out, " _Why_ do you wonder about koalas, Castiel?"

"I wonder if they're lonely," Castiel explains. He seems very happy that Crowley asked. "They are sluggish creatures. So much time spent sleeping. Simple movements like walking are exhausting, let alone interaction with their own kind. What a tragic life. Do they wish my Father made them different?"

"Enough," Crowley hisses. He spins around. "Might I remind you, peaches, that you are alone for a reason. Would you like to know why? Because you are poison. You are too corrupt for Heaven, you are too dangerous for your pet monkeys, and you are too unloyal for me. _Me_! The King of Hell, you incompetent git!"

With every word, Castiel's eyes widen, and his mouth parts further open.

Crowley waves a disgusted hand. "We were on to something, you and I. Say what you will of my track record, but I honor my deals. I proved that today. What have you done, Castiel? You are the key to your little playthings beating that damn Dick Roman and his band of merry clones-"

"I wonder why a man would choose to call himself Dick," Castiel muses. "It's rather crass-"

"Who cares!" Crowley is beyond exasperation. "You could be leading the charge with your boy toys. But you're here instead, flirting with Miss Piggy. Angel no more, just Chef to the Stars."

"You are mistaken, again," Castiel says. His voice is no longer serene. It is quieter now, unsteady and anxious. "I'm not the key to anything. I'll just mess it all up. Like I always do."

"Remind me again, why didn't I kill you?" But something about Castiel's change in demeanor intrigues Crowley. He quiets and waits.

"When you made that deal, and you thought I would honor it? You were wrong. You're always wrong, Crowley." Castiel's voice is nearly hoarse, stripped raw with fear.

Crowley takes an experimental step towards him. Castiel shrinks back, eyes widening. Hmm...yes, this is an intriguing turn indeed.

"I'm always wrong, am I?" Crowley's brows rise, as do the corners of his mouth. He takes another step forward. Castiel looks delightfully miserable. He begins playing with his own fingers. A boy in a man's meat suit. "You always meant to betray me, is that it?"

"What's black and white and red all over?" The angel smiles weakly. "Castiel."

"Did you mean to betray me when we sealed the deal, love?" Crowley hooks a hand beneath his chin and jerks it upward. Castiel sucks in a breath. "You do remember when we sealed our deal, don't you?"

Castiel looks at him in a panic. "When I saw a meteor shower for the first time, I cried. I thought it was angels! Angels, falling..."

"Oh, I've seen angels fall, my sweet." Crowley tightens his fingers around Castiel's chin. Castiel's eyes are terror-filled, his breaths coming in short, trapped bursts. "What a lovely tumble from grace."

"Would you like a sandwich?" Castiel asks. He sounds desperate, twisting his head away from Crowley's hand. "I can make you one."

Crowley's mouth twitches. "Do you remember what it's like, Castiel? When an angel falls?" The hand rejected by Castiel's face grabs his shirt instead. He breathes in the scent of his broken toy. "I can jog your memory, if you'd like."

Maybe Crowley is pushing his luck. He may be cuckoo for Cocoa Puffs, but this is still Castiel. Angel of the Lord, his Heavenly mojo fully intact. Crowley can feel the white-hot energy under his mask of flesh and bone. 

But every once in awhile, a demon has to play a hunch. 

"Dean and Sam will be hungry soon." Crowley can nearly taste the racing pulse of Castiel's vessel and smell the fear on his lovely, fragile skin. Greedily, his own flesh responds.

"Soon, love," Crowley murmurs. "But, I'm hungry now. What can we do about that, hmm?"

Castiel looks at him helplessly. "Are you...sure you don't want the honey?" He tries for a smile. "I thought honey wheat bread would be nice with the lettuce and the tomatoes. But I offered it to you first. You can have it-"

His words choke off, tripped by Crowley's mouth forcing down on his. The angel's eyes widen with alarm. He writhes awkwardly under Crowley's grip.

The demon is forced to release him with a long-suffered sigh. "What now?" 

"I'm poison," Castiel protests. He looks like he is about to be ill.

His broken-hearted expression makes Crowley laugh out loud. "My, aren't you a good listener." He pats Castiel's cheek with something meant to be mockery. But it comes across like affection. "Just what are we going to do with you, ducky?"

Castiel flinches when Crowley touches his face and moves away. Safely separated, Castiel's expression becomes pensive. Again, he looks up at the stars.

Crowley watches, frustrated but more intrigued than he would like to admit. "What's going on in that pretty head of yours?"

Castiel glances back. "I used to see your human eyes sometimes," he says. "Now, I only see darkness."

"A smoky eye is sexy," Crowley mutters. "You're one for flattery, aren't you, Cas?"

Castiel rubs his lips together thoughtfully. "Why did you lie to me?"

The question is unexpectedly coherent from marble-less Castiel. Crowley raises a brow. "When did I lie to you, kitten?"

"It only takes the contract and one kiss to make a deal with a crossroads demon," Castiel muses. Oh, this is going into dangerous territory indeed.

Crowley smiles winningly. "Are you still hung up on me, darling?" he asks. 

"You were superior to me," Castiel says.

Crowley pauses to consider this. Whack job or not, it's unlike Castiel to make such a claim. "Well...yes, naturally." Crowley looks him over curiously.

"The deal wasn't enough, you had to..." Castiel frowns and looks away. Crowley waits for the sentence to conclude, but Castiel says nothing.

"Had to...?" Crowley prompts. He is quite interested in the ending.

Castiel sighs. "I've never understood why my Father gave men nipples. Are they just for bodily pleasure? What purpose do they serve?"

Crowley claps his hands. "Focus, pet," he bids. "What did I have to do?"

Castiel chuckles. The smile on his face is small but biting. "There's a saying on Earth, about burning bridges. If one were to burn every bridge, wouldn't he just...fall?"

"I'm regretting not killing you more by the moment." Crowley moves to stand in front of him. "Are you telling me riddles again, sweetheart? I'm doing my best, but I don't speak Batshit Crazy. You have to help a demon out."

Castiel's eyes meet his. Slowly, he lifts a hand and scratches it through the stubble on Crowley's jaw. Unlike before, the touch does not immediately earn the demon's anger. Crowley allows it, but he keeps his stare fixed on the angel's, daring him to try anything. The promise of a violent end glints in his black eyes.

"We did make a good team," Castiel admits. "For awhile."

Crowley gives him the once over. Then, he sighs. "What the hell?" he murmurs. "Let's try this again."

He grabs the angel by the coat and pulls him forward, covering Castiel's mouth with his own. This time, he is pleasantly surprised by the lack of dissent. Castiel steps into him, fixing his body against Crowley's. His hands sink under Crowley's suit jacket, pulling his shirt out from his pants. His fingers slide under the fabric, running up the small of his back.

Perhaps Plan C is still a go after all. As pleased as this makes the King of Hell, he can't help but be underwhelmed by their surroundings. "Beg Babe's pardon for me," Crowley says. "This suit's designer. Not made for rolling in pig slop, you understand."

"What are you..." Castiel blinks.

One second, they are on the farm in Normandy. The next, they are in the lavish living room of a penthouse suite. The floors are marble, edged in gold paint. Crystal sculptures line the halls, and a diamond crusted chandelier gleams overhead. The balcony doors are open, revealing a night sky lit only by the glow of the Eiffel Tower. Curtains billow gently in the evening breeze.

Castiel blinks again. "This is excessive."

"You do Europe in your way, angel," Crowley says. "Let me do it in mine."

Castiel stares at him suddenly. "The honey. The lettuce, the wheat. What if something happens?"

"Easy, Looney Tunes," Crowley mutters. He snaps his fingers, and the bowl of ingredients appears on the kitchen island, fully intact. Next to it sits the angel blade. Castiel's loss of marbles is apparently contagious.

"Don't say I never do anything for you. Now." Crowley heads to the mini-bar. "Brandy?"

"No," Castiel replies. Crowley shrugs and pours himself a glass, taking a sip with a pleasant smile. Few things warm the black soul of a demon like aged European spirits. 

With the silky taste of liquor on his tongue, Crowley crosses the room to where Castiel stands, bewildered. Crowley grabs the front of his shirt and pulls him forward. His mouth curves at one corner. "Where were we?"

Castiel's breaths stutter against his, but Crowley feels him respond. First, with more pressure tentatively pushed against his mouth. Then, with hands sinking under his jacket again. Crowley feels the angel's grace burning hot in his fingertips. He arches under the hands scorching up his back.

Impatient, Crowley balls Castiel's shirt in his fists and pulls him away from the living room.

They move to the master bedroom. It is somehow more ornate than the rest of the suite. The bed is plush with gold posts. A fireplace crackles and glows from the back wall. Candles are lit, their shadows flickering over gold-edged wallpaper.

Disbelief is plain on Castiel's face. Crowley snorts his agreement. "You're right, I suppose." He waves a hand, and the candles are doused, shrouding the room in a less-romantic darkness. The only light dances from the fireplace.

"Better," he says, then smirks and rips at the angel's trenchcoat. 

"You-" Castiel starts, but Crowley's mouth is on his before he can complete the thought. From Castiel's soft sound of pleasure, he is okay with the interruption. He lets himself be led to the side of the bed and pushed down on the mattress.

Watching him, Crowley removes his suit jacket and folds it neatly over the footboard. He follows with his shirt, unbuttoned and draped over the jacket. And, finally, his pants, arranged tidily next to his other garments.

"Priorities," Crowley explains. His appraising eyes course over Castiel's too-clothed form. Gaze dark, he climbs onto the mattress and covers the angel's vessel with his own. Castiel watches as the demon forces his shirt up and mouths his way along his stomach. The shirt is torn impatiently over his head.

Crowley pauses to stroke one of Castiel's nipples with his tongue. The pebble is rolled languidly between his lips, then bitten. Castiel jumps with a strangled sound of surprise.

Crowley huffs a laugh. "That is the purpose of a man's nipples, love."

"I've seen a ceiling like this before," Castiel muses. His voice shakes.

Crowley is through talking. His mouth is far more interested in feasting on the angel's vessel. The body itself is not Castiel, warrior of the Almighty, but he chose his human well. The body has held up nicely for its celestial host. It is just fit enough, smooth and utterly fuckable beneath Crowley's greedy hands.

He only regards Castiel when the angel breathes, "In Hell. There was a ceiling like this."

"Ah," Crowley murmurs. "So, your broken brain still remembers our deal."

"I felt righteous." Castiel closes his eyes and does something utterly baffling. He starts to laugh. Not a Castiel type of chuckle - a short burst of breath and the faintest hint of a smile. No, this is a full and audible laugh. "I still felt righteous, even then. Isn't that strange?"

"You are the ultimate mood-killer, kitten," Crowley mutters. This is what he deserves for getting his jollies off with a fruitcake, he supposes.

But, what is the point of guilt? Crowley has already shown the winged nut mercy by not ending him tonight. After everything the angel has done, why not do this?

"Well now," Crowley purrs. He fits himself between Castiel's legs and hooks his hands into the waistband of his pants. "Will you feel righteous this time around, I wonder?"

Castiel latches a hand over the back of his neck and pulls Crowley down to him, crushing their mouths together. The act is so abrupt and unexpected, Crowley barely stops himself from zapping off to safety. The kiss feels like an attack. But it also feels good, bruising and painful like the best of their buddy cop days. On the hunt for Purgatory. Such sweet, simple times.

Crowley’s anger returns. He, demon-king extraordinaire, should never have been played by the most vanilla of Heaven's pets. Their pact was supposed to end in one of two ways - with Castiel dead, or with their union intact and stronger than ever. But no, he was betrayed and humiliated by this damned celestial cockcroach. The demon-king and his angel, a true Shakespearean tragedy.

Crowley forces Castiel's pants down with renewed purpose. He pauses just long enough to spit into his hand and smear. "You're lucky you're getting this much," he grits.

Castiel grabs his waist and pulls Crowley to him with a strength that exceeds the capacity of his human vessel. His legs open, and he grunts as he forces Crowley inside him. This night just gets more curious by the moment.

The Bible is a failure all-around, in Crowley’s opinion. But it royally screws up by hiding how damned good it feels to fuck an angel. They have the bodies, sure, borrowed skin from their possessed. But they also have the angel grace, and it lights their insides like a Christmas tree. Castiel is inhumanly hot and tight, wringing Crowley out like the coil of an electric current. The perfect celestial fuck-toy.

Castiel holds his gaze. Crowley can see the human blue, but there is a light behind it - a glowing presence that burns through his very being. 

"Still the bottom in this relationship." Crowley smirks and pushes his forearm under Castiel's chin. The angel's breaths catch, but he does not try to free his throat from Crowley's hold. Instead he opens his thighs wider, letting Crowley angle and fill him to the hilt.

Crowley chuckles. "What would your monkeys think if I gave you mementos to remember me by? A burn here, a bite there..." He runs his teeth up Castiel's throat. The angel tilts his head back for him. His neck is nice and long, perfect for marking. Crowley licks at his jaw, the bone strong against his lips. "I can only imagine the look on their stupidly handsome faces."

"We should play Jenga sometime," Castiel says. His voice wavers as he digs his hand into the demon's back. "It seems like a fun game."

"You know what else is a fun game? Cards Against Humanity. Ha! Perfect for us." Crowley moves the arm on Castiel's throat so he can knot fingers in his hair. He rips Castiel's head back, growling and running his mouth down his jawline. Castiel tastes deliciously weakened, like the perfect revenge.

Crowley should feel bad about fucking a brain dead bird, perhaps. But this is sweet justice. Karma screwed Castiel's mind, and now Crowley gets to screw his body. It's appropriate, since Castiel screwed everyone around him - Crowley, Moose and Squirrel, even his own kin.

This is what Castiel deserves. And he's loving it. His body is shaking, and his hands are insatiable, grabbing and pulling at Crowley, demanding as much as the demon-king can give.

Crowley grabs Castiel's cock between their bodies and fists it. Castiel groans, a pretty sound in that gravelly voice. Crowley yanks him again for good measure, squeezing and thumbing along the slit, until he can feel the start of wetness. The drops are smeared down Castiel's shaft.

But Crowley's want of revenge does not stop here. Crowley shifts his hips and forces into him, skin hitting skin with a lovely slap. Castiel, the would-be God, moans weakly. The demon has rediscovered the place that makes any creature in human form shatter into pieces. Crowley keeps right on fucking him there, and Castiel writhes beneath his weight. Even Crazy-Town goes quiet, no more riddles about cat penises or honey bees. 

"Come for me, kitten," Crowley murmurs.

Castiel's stare is vacant, the light dying from his eyes. And with it goes his resolve, a spasm tearing through his lower body. It ends with wetness between their bellies. When Castiel goes, his insides twist deliciously. His temperature flares to near-pain levels, scorching across Crowley's nerves. With a satisfied groan, he shoots his load, staining the insides of his angel.

Pleased as punch, Crowley gives him a mocking kiss before climbing out and wiping himself on the sheets. Decorum be damned, this isn't his penthouse. He just uses it whenever he pleases.

Castiel lies still on the bed. With the light of the fireplace licking at his skin, he looks quite the beautiful whore. His softening cock is still damp in the aftermath. A sheen of sweat sits on his brow.

"Clean yourself, darling," Crowley says. "I'm done with you."

Castiel does so without a word, wiping himself with the sheets before getting up and replacing his clothing. He shrugs his trenchcoat on last and walks back out to the living room.

Crowley follows, only bothering with his shorts and pants for now. He follows the angel to the dining area, where Castiel is gathering his bowl of foodstuff. And, more interestingly, his angel blade. Crowley watches it like a hawk, but Castiel apparently has no intention of using it now. The blade is tucked back into place beneath his jacket.

"Time to go, love," Crowley says. If the angel stays any longer, this may stop being about revenge. The demon-king has no interest in this possibility. Not anymore.

Castiel glances over his shoulder. His eyes are oddly pained. "I'm still honing my communication strategy," he says.

Before Crowley can ask what he means, the angel has disappeared, back to his farm and his heroic pig. He has taken everything from the kitchen island. Save one thing. Crowley creeps closer to investigate. It's a plastic bag.

Crowley picks it up and opens it. He gives it a cautious sniff. Then, he dips a finger in and tests it with a lick.

Honey. The fool angel left him the honey after all.

*The End*


End file.
